Vince Tanev had an ass of stone.
It was the largest I’d ever seen on any man in my life, but it was also cut, the muscles lean and a dip in the side of each cheek showcasing as he walked. I’d had a sneaky suspicion when I’d seen them all dressed in their suits earlier, but now, I had that suspicion verified.
Hockey players had the best asses in the entire world.
There was just no debating it.
“Coffee?” he asked me as he walked into the kitchen area of his suite, already pouring a cup for himself. He turned and leaned against the counter, and once again, my eyes flicked to where his erection was.
He followed my gaze.
And then the bastard smirked, shrugging.
“Sorry about that,” he said, reaching down to adjust himself. I had to tear my eyes away and look up at the ceiling, because seeing his gargantuan hand wrapped around his massive cock as he casually grabbed himself was too much for any woman to withstand — even one who knew he was a playboy.
“Good dream during that nap, I take it?” I said, hoping that came out as a joke more than a question I actually wanted the answer to.
“A very good dream,” he said, sipping the black coffee in his mug. “You were in it.”
That made me suck my teeth, and when I leveled him with a glare, he chuckled.
“I’m going to start getting myself ready,” he said. “And… I know it’s kind of been fun and games up until this point, but it’s game day, and my pre-game ritual means a lot to me. So…”
“I’ll stay out of your way,” I promised. “Just ignore me.”
His eyes flickered a little bit where they ran over me. “You’re entirely oblivious to what a fox you are, aren’t you?”
My neck warmed at his words, but I didn’t let myself smile or blush beneath them. Instead, I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of him.
“Keep making comments like that, and I’ll post this picture of you in your underwear.”
“Go ahead,” he dared on another shrug, pushing off the counter and heading toward the bedroom part of the suite. “Maybe a Boston Bunny will see it and find me after the game.”
“Pig,” I called after him, and his deep laugh was the last thing I heard before he was running the shower.
True to my word, I tried to be invisible as Vince ran through his pre-game routine. The only question I asked was what he did before I got there, to which he told me he had a big pre-game meal — which apparently was the same for him every game, a huge heaping pile of some sort of pasta — and a long nap with the air conditioning turned down to sixty degrees. I’d wondered why I had been freezing when I first walked in, and now I had my answer.
That little tidbit of knowledge along with what I observed him do had me smiling to myself.
Vince Cool was superstitious.
He didn’t shave on game days, and he also brushed his teeth not once but twice — once after he finished his coffee and another time after he had his pre-game snack, which was a piece of wheat toast slathered in peanut butter and topped with bananas.
He got dressed in a very particularly order, and he packed his bag to take to the stadium in a very particular way, too. When we were getting close to ready to leave, he dropped to the ground and did four pushups. Only four. Then, he surprised me further by calling his little sister.
Her bright blue eyes filled the screen, and she looked so much like Vince I wondered if they were twins. But a quick Google search told me she was a year-and-a-half younger than him.
“Hey, big bro,” she sang, her smile wide, teeth like the ones you saw on orthodontist billboards. “You ready to kick ass?”
“Almost.”
She sighed on a laugh. “You know, I might be getting too old for this.”
“You’re not allowed to. Ever. You know the rules.”
“Yeah, yeah, pre-game ritual,” she said with a grin. She perked up when she saw me standing behind her brother. “Oh! You’re Maven King!”
Vince held the phone at a better angle for her to see me. “I am,” I said with an awkward wave. “Hello.”
“Hi! I’m Grace, Vinny’s sister. Nice to meet you. I’m so excited for this piece you’re doing on my brother.” She paused, her nose wrinkling. “I could do with you showing him with more clothes on, though.”
I laughed, and Vince pointed the phone back at himself. “Come on, sis. Gotta give the people what they want.”
“Isn’t what they want supposed to be you scoring goals?”
“Yes,” he said. “And making them cream their panties.”
“Ew!” she screamed at the same time I said, “Gross!”
Vince smiled victoriously. “Alright, we need to get downstairs for the bus. Let’s go.”
“Fine,” she sang again, and then she propped her phone up so she could stand in the middle of the room. I didn’t know where she was, but it looked like a college dorm, and she swung a leg out like she was testing the space around her.
I pulled out my phone and recorded Vince from behind, arching a brow at him and then the screen.
Then, Grace started singing.
Well, it wasn’t really singing as much as it was half-cheering, half-squawking like a bird. She did the most ridiculous dance, her hair flying about as she chirped something about forty one, best under the sun, forty one, let’s have some fun, Vinny, Vinny, you’re so cool, you’re so cool you rule the school and then she ended it all with a back tuck into a split.
Vince held up his fist when she finished. “Perfect ten.”
“I know,” she said, climbing to her feet. “Go get ’em, big bro.”
“Later, sis.”
The call ended as abruptly as it had begun, and I turned off my own video, momentarily stunned.
“Um…” I laughed. “What was that?”
Vince shrugged, and I noticed he’d slipped out of his usual goofy demeanor into one more serious. The transition had been slow, starting from the moment I’d walked in the door and getting more severe as the hours ticked on.
He was mentally preparing himself for the game, that much was easy to see.
“Just a little tradition,” he said.
I couldn’t help but laugh again. “What — your little sister doing a bizarre dance and backflip?”
“Yes,” he said, snapping his eyes to mine. “Is there an issue?”
I swallowed under his gaze, which was harder than it ever had been when it was on me. “No,” I said. “I just wasn’t aware you needed someone to squawk like a bird to feel game ready.”
He narrowed his gaze, standing from where he had been on the couch. It always took my breath away, how tall and broad he was. “It was something she did to cheer me up before a game in high school when I was on a shit streak. I got a hat trick that game, and so now it’s routine.”
“But… you’ve lost games since then,” I pointed out. “So it can’t always work.”
“You don’t get it.”
He was gathering the last of his things to head out the door when I cut him off. “So explain it to me.”
He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. The movement exposed that long column of his throat, and I traced his Adam’s apple with a bolt of electricity firing off between my thighs.